


Late Bloomer

by LilRinnieB



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Forced Bonding, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilRinnieB/pseuds/LilRinnieB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were only three ways in which a wizard would react to the poisonous petals of the Carysantha flower: one was to lose his magic; another was to lose his mind. As Harry's luck would have it, he reacted in the rare third way – he lost his humanity. HBP and DH do not apply. This is my take on the mythical leanan sidhe (pronounced lan-awn shee). It was originally written for Eriador117 for the HP Cross Gen Fest on livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where's A Longbottom When You Need One?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work.
> 
> Warnings: Creature!fic, AU, forced bonding, Possessive!Snape, Virgin!Harry, teacher/student (Harry is eighteen), moderate angst.

 

 

  
       “I can't believe we're just starting our seventh year,” Hermione grumbled as she poked her fork at the food on her plate. “I'm going to be nineteen soon! I could be working at the Ministry by now.”  
  
       “Well, a year late is better than never at all,” Ron said, pausing between bites of breakfast to remind Hermione of just how much worse it could have been. “If You-Know-Who had succeeded, this school would just be one heaping pile of rubble. They had to close the school after the attack to rebuild the parts he destroyed, and to give Harry and Dumbledore time to recover after the battle.”  
  
       “He's dead, Ron. You don't have to call him You-Know-Who anymore.” Harry poured himself a second glass of pumpkin juice as he teased his best friend.  
  
       “We all thought he was dead the first time, and look how that turned out.”  
  
       Harry grinned, amused by Ron's stubborn rejection of the post-Voldemort euphoria that had swept the wizarding world in the past few months.  
  
       “Trust me. He's not coming back.”  
  
       The long overdue demise of Voldemort had been achieved after a suspenseful sixth year of disappearing allies and shifting loyalties. This allowed Voldemort to infiltrate and influence the Ministry, making life hellish for Muggle-borns and even some half-bloods, forcing many of them to retreat from the wizarding world. A plan had been hatched at the beginning of Harry's seventh year to lure Voldemort out from behind his shield of Death Eaters into a head-on confrontation by leaking false rumors of Dumbledore's ill health and weakening power. The resulting attack on Hogwarts had ended with Dumbledore and Harry combining their powers to destroy Voldemort and free the wizarding world from his reign of terror.  
  
       However, the true hero of the war was Professor Snape. It had been his plan to lure Voldemort into the open, and he had delivered the false information himself. His role as spy had also allowed him to inform the Order of when the attack on Hogwarts would take place, ensuring that the students could be evacuated and taken out of harm's way. Unfortunately, the damage caused by the battle forced Hogwarts to close its doors for the rest of the year, so now Harry and his friends were starting their seventh year all over again.  
  
       “I am looking forward to a dull, uneventful school year,” Harry said, gesturing with his glass of pumpkin juice as if he was giving a toast, “and living up to my new goal of becoming the most boring wizard Hogwarts has ever seen.”  
  
       Ron snorted. “You, boring? You have a better chance of becoming Snape's star pupil.”  
  
       Hermione laughed and gave up playing with her food. “Where is Professor Snape, anyway? He wasn't at the feast last night and now he's missing from the head table.”  
  
       “I don't blame him for missing the feast. Twice as many first years meant it took twice as long to sort them, and twice as long to get to the food. Not my idea of a fun way to start off the year.”  
  
       “Ron, how could you possibly have been hungry after the way you stuffed yourself on the train? Don't blame the first years just because you have a bottomless pit for a stomach.”  
  
       Harry laughed along with his friends, at the same time stealing a glance at Snape's empty seat. He was glad Hermione had brought up Snape's strange absence; it had been bothering him since they first sat down to breakfast and what was worse, he didn't know _why_ it bothered him. In years past, the luxury of a Snape-free day would have thrilled Harry, but he'd come to respect and understand his acid-tongued professor, appreciating the stress and strain of his role as a spy and the risks that accompanied it. He doubted they would ever progress past that mutual cease-fire they'd entered into during the worst days of the war, but he certainly didn't hate the man anymore. Still, it didn't explain that flicker of apprehension he felt whenever he looked up at the head table and saw Snape's vacant chair.  
  
       _Maybe I just don't want things at Hogwarts to change_ , he thought to himself with a wry smile. One thing that had never changed for him was seeing Snape up at the head table, glaring and scowling at Harry whenever their eyes would meet.  
  
       “Looks like the post is here,” Hermione said.  
  
       Ron spared only a cursory glance at the incoming owls before focusing back on his breakfast. “If you see Hedwig lugging any of Harry's fan-mail this way, let me know so I can take cover.”  
  
       “Very funny,” Harry said with a mock-glare, though he had to admit his sudden popularity with both witches and wizards had bordered on the ridiculous for the first few months following Voldemort's defeat. He'd been staying at the Burrow with Ron and the Weasleys, and every morning the house would be flooded with owls. The frenzy had died down over the summer, so Harry doubted he would get much more than a note from Remus and Tonks or his copy of the Quibbler.  
  
       “There was that bloke who pretended to be a Muggle mailman delivering an empty box just so he could get close enough to snog you,” Ron wouldn't let the fan-mail issue drop, adding slyly, “though I don't think you minded that one so much ...”  
  
       Harry shrugged. “Who am I to turn away a man with a big package?”  
  
       “That's awful, Harry,” Ginny said with a groan. “Let's keep it clean this morning, shall we?”  
  
       “Don't worry, Ginny. Harry's still a pure soul.” Ron winked at his friend.  
  
       “No need to broadcast it.” Harry flicked a fork-load of eggs at him.  
  
       “I don't see Hedwig,” Hermione said as the owls continued to soar overhead, “but it looks like you might be getting a – _watch out, Harry_!”  
  
       Harry ducked just in time to avoid being dive-bombed by a large spotted owl that dropped a small brown-paper parcel in his lap then flew off with a flutter of tawny wings.  
  
       “The attacks are coming earlier than usual this year,” Ron said with a grin. “Does this mean there's a new Dark Lord on the rise?”  
  
       “A new Dark Lord, eh? How nice of him to send me a present. Voldemort was never that generous.” Harry placed the package on the table with every intention of banishing it as soon as possible. He'd received countless similar boxes from ardent admirers plying him with gifts, trinkets, and even the rare but disturbing lock of hair. The box on the table had felt light enough in his hands that he feared something equally unsettling awaited him inside, but before he could make it vanish, Ginny snatched it away.  
  
       “At least look inside, Harry.” She tore off the brown paper and opened the box before Harry could protest. “Ooo, it's so pretty!”  
  
       She handed the box back to Harry with a pout. “Looks like whoever sent this is stuck on you, Harry. I wish someone would send _me_ flowers.”  
  
       “Flowers?” Harry looked inside the box to see a single crimson blossom nestled on a bed of dark green moss. The flower itself was exquisitely beautiful with a sunburst of dark red petals tipped in gold. It was unlike any flower Harry had ever seen, curling its petals inward at one minute and unfolding them gracefully in the next. He had the strangest impression that it was beckoning to him, gesturing for him to come closer.  
  
       “I wonder what kind of flower it is,” Hermione said, visibly put-out that it wasn't one she recognized. “It's obviously magical ...”  
  
       “Where's a Longbottom when you need one?” Ron looked around for Neville, but Gryffindor's resident Herbology expert was nowhere to be seen.  
  
       “He couldn't find his wand this morning,” Harry said absently, focusing in on the exotic flower in the box, drawn in by its sweet, pungent scent and brilliant coloring.  
  
       He touched the vivid crimson petals expecting softness, but he was surprised to find them coarse beneath his fingertips, scratching at his skin like sandpaper and leaving a thin coating of red dust on his skin. He wiped his fingers off on his trousers to remove the dust but the crimson color had permeated his skin and dyed his fingers red. He held his hand up to his face in wonder, intrigued by the blood-like stain that soon spread from the tips of his fingers to his palm, ultimately leeching into the skin of his wrist and branching off along his veins, leaving a colorful tattoo along the entire length of his arm. He pushed up his sleeve, captivated by the redness seeping into his skin, but even his curiosity waned into drowsy ambivalence as the perfume of the flower, more potent now that he'd touched its petals, filled his nose and clouded his senses.  
  
       “That's interesting,” he said, his voice slightly slurred.  
  
       “Harry, what happened? What's wrong with your hand?” Hermione stared at his reddening skin with a wary expression.  
  
       Ron hopped up from his seat and leaned over the table to get a better look at Harry's hand. “Hmm, maybe the flower had an anti-theft spell on it, so anyone who touches it gets caught 'red-handed'.”  
  
       “But whoever sent it must have known that Harry would at least pick it up to take it out of the box. Why send Harry a flower he can't touch?”  
  
       “Do you think it's a prank?” Ginny asked. “This has Fred and George written all over it.”  
  
       “If it was from them, they'd have made sure we knew it,” Ron said with a roll of his eyes. “They wouldn't see the point in doing anything anonymously.”  
  
       Hermione, confused by Harry's lackluster response to the entire situation, jumped to her feet and gathered up her books. “Okay, Harry, stand up. We'll take you to see Madame Pomfrey before class. Maybe it's just an allergic reaction.”  
  
       Harry started to stand up but the room spun around him. He quickly sat back down in his seat to avoid an embarrassing fall. “Not going to happen. Any other ideas?”  
  
       Hermione looked as if she had plenty of other ideas to suggest, but she was interrupted by the late arrival of Neville to their section of the table, winded but grinning, with his missing wand now clutched tightly in his hand.  
  
       “I thought I was going to miss breakfast altogether,” he forced out between gulps of air, squeezing in between Harry and Ginny. He didn't seem to notice the worried faces around him, his attention immediately caught by the beautiful red flower in the box in front of Harry.  
  
       “Wow, Harry, that's a Carysantha flower! They're extremely rare; I never thought I'd get to see one in real life! It's illegal to grow one without a special permit from the Ministry, you know.”  
  
       “Fascinating, Neville, but we're having a bit of an emergency,” Ron said. “Skip to the part where you tell us why Harry's skin turned red when he touched it.”  
  
       Neville looked at Harry's hand and winced. “You ... you _touched_ it?”  
  
       “I take it that's a bad thing,” Harry said, still delightfully unworried, his head swimming with the rich, heady scent that the flower gave off.  
  
       Neville, speechless with horror, quickly closed the lid on the box and snatched it up in his arms, running towards the teachers' table and Professor Sprout with a speed that amazed everyone who knew him.  
  
       “It must be bad if it makes Neville run like that.” Ron, who had been taking all of his emotional cues from Harry up to this point, now decided it was time to panic. He latched onto Hermione's arm and whispered frantic questions in her ear. “Should we take him to the infirmary? Or should we tell Dumbledore first? Or maybe we should try to wash his hand and get that stuff off of him ...”  
  
       “ _You_ should sit down,” Hermione said, forcing Ron back into his seat. She glanced up at the teachers' table and noticed that Neville was fetching a rather pale Professor Sprout to help them. She turned back to Harry and started checking his vitals with her wand, having become something of an expert at it after assisting Madame Pomfrey with the wounded after the war. “Everything seems normal ... but your heart rate is starting to increase. Do you feel light-headed?”  
  
       “I feel ... ” Harry blinked as Hermione's face came sharply into focus before fading to a dark blur. Did he take off his glasses at some point? He patted blindly at his face in confusion and immediately felt the cool metal frames beneath his fingers.  
  
       “Harry, don't touch your face.” Hermione reached out to knock his hand away but Professor Sprout, huffing and puffing with the exertion of her unexpected sprint, grabbed her wrist, pulling Hermione back and away from Harry.  
  
       “You _must not_ touch him!” She pulled out a pair of thick dragon-hide gloves from her grubby robes and slipped them onto her hands. Shooing the other Gryffindors away, she examined Harry's hand and arm, her face growing grayer by the second, but it wasn't until Dumbledore himself had joined her that she voiced the terrible diagnosis.  
  
       “Carysantha poisoning.”  
  
       Dumbledore's breath caught in his throat, clearly audible to Harry even through the red haze that suffused his mind. He felt his first tremor of fear run through him, alarmed only because he knew Dumbledore was alarmed.  
  
       “Get him to Poppy. I will summon Severus and meet you in the hospital wing.”  
  
       Harry felt someone hoisting him to his feet. He tried to say that no, that wouldn't do any good because currently his legs felt as solid as gravy, but the message never made it from his brain to his mouth as the darkness that had at first only attacked his vision now swallowed every other sense he had. His last conscious thought was to wonder if, after facing off against the strongest dark wizard of the modern age and surviving, he would now only be remembered as The-Boy-Who-Was-Defeated-By-A-Flower.

 


	2. The Curse of the Carysantha Flower

  
  
       Harry woke suddenly, slammed into awareness by some unexplainable force and left to face the blurry, white-walled sterility of the infirmary with a parched mouth and a gnawing ache in his stomach. He tried to reach for his glasses so he could see better, but his arms had been secured at his sides with magical restraints.   
  
       "Ahh, conscious, are we? Good." The voice that spoke to Harry was a familiar rich baritone, but his scrambled thoughts couldn't piece together the face or the name of the person to whom it belonged. He was given a small sip of water before the voice began asking him more questions.  
  
       “Do you know where you are?"  
  
       He squinted up at the ceiling; the answer was right there, right in front of him, but it took him several frustrating seconds before he could vocalize it. "Hogwarts."  
  
       "And what year is it?"   
  
       Another pause while his sluggish mind played catch-up. " ... 1998."  
  
       "Impressive, Potter. You managed to get both questions right. How unfortunate that you aren't this consistent in my classroom." The owner of that dark, decadent voice rewarded Harry with another sip of water, but it did little to ease the dry-as-dust sensation in his mouth.   
  
       "Does this mean his mind is unaffected?" This voice, softer and feminine, had a curious wobble to it, as if holding back a sob.   
  
       "What little there is to _be_ affected ..."  
  
       "Severus," a third voice interrupted, pitched low in warning, and Harry's brain kicked back into high gear. That was Dumbledore's voice, and Snape had been the one questioning him ... and was that Hermione he had heard? The fact that Harry couldn't see anything was starting to annoy him.  
  
       "So far, his mind shows no signs of deterioration ... but we have yet to test his ability to use magic. Which would _you_ prefer to be, Potter? A loon or a squib?"  
  
       "Severus!"   
  
       "No, Albus. He deserves to hear exactly what might be in store for him after being so reckless."  
  
       "He didn't know what it was, Professor," Ron spoke up, though his voice sounded distant. "None of us did. Neville was the only one who recognized it, and by then it was too late."  
  
       "Poking at a magical plant before knowing its properties does not constitute intelligent behavior in my opinion. Potter's ignorance doesn't excuse his actions."  
  
       Dumbledore broke in to diffuse the situation just as Harry was about to defend himself, though deep down he knew that Snape had a point.   
  
       “Harry may have been mistaken in touching the flower, but even you must agree that the punishment far outweighs the crime here, Severus. Have you tested his blood?”  
  
       “I hardly think it is necessary, Albus. He shows every symptom of a full transformation. However, if you want a confirmation, I drew some blood just before he woke up. I will have the results shortly, but there are other issues I need to deal with as well. Will you be able to scrounge up a semi-competent replacement to teach my classes?”  
  
       “I will take that responsibility myself,” Dumbledore said, “as long as you keep me informed of Harry's condition. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, I believe you will want to stay with your friend?”  
  
       “Yes, sir,” they replied simultaneously.   
  
       “Very well, then. I will inform your teachers.”  
  
       Harry felt Dumbledore move closer as he finally addressed Harry directly. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go, Harry?”  
  
       “Glasses,” Harry said, not trusting himself to say much more than that. He still felt like he might trip over his own tongue if he tried to speak too quickly. The fewer syllables he had to stumble over, the better.  
  
       “Of course, dear boy,” Dumbledore said, reaching for Harry's glasses that rested on the small bedside table, but Snape snatched them up first.  
  
       “I'll see that Potter gets them, Headmaster,” Snape said as he led Dumbledore away from Harry's bedside. “You shouldn't risk touching him just yet.”  
  
       Harry glared in the direction of Snape's retreating voice, his vision still too blurry for him to make more than an educated guess as to Snape's exact location. Why hadn't anyone explained anything to him? They talked about him as if he wasn't even there – or as if he wouldn't understand them if they _tried_ to talk to him. Harry was left half-blind, hungry as hell, and completely ignorant of his own condition. His anger sent his thoughts tumbling into a fresh state of confusion, with so many sharp retorts clogging his mind and weighing down his tongue that he found it extremely difficult to say what he was feeling.  
  
       “Glasses,” he repeated between clenched teeth, squeezing all of his frustration into that one word.  
  
       “Professor Snape took them with him, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice still soft and muffled, as if she were speaking to him from the other side of a closed door. “Don't worry, he's coming right back.”  
  
       “Lucky us,” Ron grumbled.  
  
       Harry tried to sit up only to remember he was strapped down to the bed. He closed his eyes to focus his thoughts, but even his best attempt at concentration only resulted in a strained, one-word question:  
  
       “Happened?”  
  
       “You did a world class face-plant on the floor of the Great Hall,” Ron answered, a bouncy lilt to his voice that negated the seriousness of the situation, “and you were out like a light for two days. Sometimes you’d moan and thrash around. Half the time you sounded like you were in pain, and during the other half you sounded like … well … like you were really, _really_ enjoying yourself, but usually you’d be very still and quiet and pale, especially when Snape was examining you. When you weren’t awake this morning, Dumbledore wanted to send you to St. Mungo’s but Snape wouldn’t hear of it. Not sure why, but he was really stubborn about it. They went at it for a while until you woke up, which was a few minutes ago, which leaves us where we are now … in the present … that doesn’t need explaining … right?”  
  
       Harry stared wide-eyed at Ron, the poison-induced time delay in his brain preventing him from making much sense of Ron’s lively babble.  
  
       “Ignore him,” Hermione said, her presence reduced to little more than a blur of black robes and brown hair that hovered near the foot of his bed. “Ron’s been frantic ever since you passed out and all that nervous energy is being channeled directly to his mouth. Besides, he’s wrong. There’s still a lot we need to explain to you.”  
  
       “That would be the blind leading the blind, don’t you think?” Snape glided back into the room with Harry’s glasses in one hand and a thick, dusty tome in the other. “You only learned of the Carysantha flower two days ago, Miss Granger, so I would hardly consider you an expert on the subject.”  
  
       Harry swore he could actually feel the dip in Hermione’s spirits after Snape’s mocking comment. His hunger worsened.  
  
       “I want to talk to Potter alone. You two can go help Madame Pomfrey until I’m finished.”  
  
       “Why can’t we just – ”  
  
       “This isn’t up for negotiation, Weasley. Go. _Now_.”  
  
       Harry felt his two friends walk away in that same strange way he’d felt Hermione’s changing mood. The dull ache in his stomach tightened with the echo of each footfall, but then Snape was suddenly hovering over him, blanketing him in cool shadow and the faded scent of Carysantha petals, and the pain retreated back into mild discomfort. Leather-clad fingers placed Harry’s glasses back on his face. For a moment he could see something burning in the black depths of Snape's eyes, but all was quickly locked away behind Snape’s customary sneer as he stepped back and pulled out his wand.  
  
       “I am going to remove your restraints, but you must be careful not to touch anyone from now on. You are no longer contagious, but skin on skin contact would be … _problematic_ … for you and for the person you touch. I will fetch you some gloves to wear once you leave this room. Until then I will have to depend on you to be sensible and heed my instructions on your own. Do you think you can manage that, Potter?”  
  
       Harry gave a curt nod, hoping that his expression didn’t give away the panic he was feeling. Why couldn’t he touch anyone? And when Snape said ‘from now on,’ just how long did he mean?   
  
       “Madam Pomfrey was kind enough to erect a quarantine barrier around your bed, so don’t bother trying to get up and walk around. The barrier is designed to keep you from getting out while letting others in to treat you. Do refrain from any attempts at ‘escape’ for the duration of your stay. Your body isn’t completely recovered from the effects of the poison, and I’m certainly not going to nurse you through another two days of fitful slumber and incoherent mutterings should you have a relapse.”  
  
       He banished Harry’s restraints with a swish of his wand then set both wand and book aside.   
  
       "Listen carefully, Potter, because I don’t plan on repeating myself. The Carysantha flower is a rare and dangerous plant that only a handful of wizards and witches in the world have the authority to grow. The petals of the flower are covered with miniscule barbs that scratch at the skin of anyone who dares to touch them. The powdery substance that coats each petal contains a powerful neurotoxin that invades the body through tiny tears in the victim's skin and quickly spreads from there to the bloodstream. Once in the bloodstream, it makes its way directly to the brain. At the same time, the scent it gives off inhibits the victim's judgment and impairs all mental faculties."  
  
       Harry pinched the bridge of his nose while his brain tried to keep up with Snape's impromptu lecture. He'd never considered himself a brilliant student, but why was he having such a hard time understanding everything? Were his 'mental faculties' still impaired? Was he permanently reduced to the same intellectual level as, say, Crabbe and Goyle?  
  
       "Slower," he said, practically choking on the word. It galled him to look this weak and stupid in front of Snape, though his humiliation was far less than what he might have suffered if he and Snape hadn't agreed to that truce during the height of the war.   
  
       Snape stared at him in silence, a calculating gleam in his dark eyes, but he didn't belittle Harry or mock him as he surely would have done in the past. He slowly tugged the black leather glove off of his right hand, allowing only the smallest of smirks to grace his thin lips when Harry blushed and averted his gaze. His reaction to the gradual reveal of Snape's long, pale fingers from the dark material confused him. He couldn't have been more embarrassed if Snape had stripped naked in front of him. Snape seemed to know how much it bothered him and was enjoying every second of Harry's red-cheeked discomposure.  
  
       “I suppose we've starved you of the necessary nourishment for long enough,” he said as he reached through the barrier, but only up to his elbow, carefully keeping the rest of his body outside the magical fence that surrounded Harry's bed. He lightly touched his naked fingers to Harry's open palm.  
  
       Harry’s body jerked as if he’d been struck by lightning. Fiery heat lanced up his arm from where Snape touched him, and the fog in his head slowly cleared. Whatever Snape was doing to him, it made Harry feel stronger, his mind sharpening to a degree he’d never experienced before this, not even on his best days.   
  
       All Harry could think was that he wanted more of what Snape was giving him, but just as he started to close his hand around Snape’s fingers, Snape pulled away.  
  
       “The first time is free,” Snape said, slipping his hand back into the glove and flexing his fingers inside the leather, “but in the future, I expect some compensation.”  
  
       Harry shook himself from staring hungrily at the once-more-hidden hand and glared at him. “Compensation?”  
  
       “You absorbed all that energy and still you can only speak in one-word sentences?” Snape summoned a chair from the far side of the room and sat down. He ignored Harry's suspicious frown and continued his lecture. “Now, as I was saying before, Carysantha poison primarily affects the brain. Most wizards who encounter it are driven mad by its toxic influence. Others manage to cling to their sanity only to lose their ability to perform the simplest of spells. We believe this is yet another form of damage to the brain, irreparable and tragic, to be sure, but preferable to a lifetime of madness.”  
  
       _A loon or a squib_ ... so that was what Snape had been talking about when he asked Harry which he'd rather be. Well, his sanity seemed to be intact, so did that mean his magic ...  
  
       “You were lucky enough to escape the first scenario, and only minutes ago Madame Pomfrey informed me of an incident of self-levitation during the night that negates the second scenario,” Snape carried on, answering Harry's unspoken question, “but you did not come out of this ordeal unscathed.”  
  
       Harry pushed himself up into a seated position and looked down at his arm. The only remains of the crimson tattoo that had decorated his skin after first touching the Carysantha petals were the faint pink lines that branched from his pale wrist up past the cuff of his loose pajama sleeve. “What's wrong with me?”   
  
       “You have changed in a way that has baffled herbologists for centuries. In extremely rare circumstances, the poison that was meant to harm does quite the opposite. It invades the wizard and transforms him, bestowing on him its best and worst attributes. Every cell in his body is reshaped by the poison running through his veins. Once the metamorphosis is complete, he is an entirely new creature – in short, he ceases to be human.”  
  
       Harry stared at him blankly.  
  
       “Exactly the reaction I expected,” Snape muttered dryly. He reached for the dusty tome he'd brought with him, flipping through its yellowed pages until he came to the chapter he was looking for. He passed the book to Harry through the barrier.   
  
       “The ancient Celts called these creatures by the name _leanan sidhe_. An unfortunate choice of terms, given that it means something along the lines of 'fairy sweetheart' and we all know how disagreeable fairies really are, but for lack of a better suggestion the name stuck, even among wizards. The _leanan sidhe_ were denounced by some as being maliciously seductive and vampiric, and hailed by others as being sources of divine inspiration, flesh-and-blood muses who helped artists and scholars fulfill their greatest potential, though not without a terrible cost to those who benefited from their presence.”  
  
       Harry held the book open in his lap, scanning the faded calligraphy that covered each time-worn page, but exhaustion – or shock – prevented him from making any sense of the words. A small illustration in the top right corner of the first page depicted a gaunt, bleary-eyed writer scribbling furiously onto reams of parchment while a beautiful, lissome woman hovered over him. She whispered now and then into his ear, stroking her hand against his sunken cheek and smiling triumphantly when he shivered beneath her touch ...  
  
       Harry's stomach churned. “So I'm a ... a _leanan sidhe_?”  
  
       “Yes.”  
  
       Snape's calm, clinical tone irritated Harry. He'd just learned that he wasn't human anymore, but Snape acted like he'd just told Harry the time of day. He closed the book with a snap and pushed it aside. “Just tell me what it means, then. I don't need a history lesson. Just give me the plain facts.”  
  
       “The 'history lesson,' as you so quaintly put it, is necessary to understand the current legislation protecting _leanan sidhe_ and their progeny, but I suppose we can postpone it for now.”  
  
       “Thanks,” Harry spat out sarcastically, raking a hand through his hair.  
  
       Snape squinted at him, his mouth tightening into a thin line, but whatever snarky retort trembled on his tongue was reluctantly swallowed and stored away for later. “The _leanan sidhe_ requires the life energy of other creatures to survive. Because of this, a _leanan sidhe_ feeds off a human's emotions, energy, and magic in lieu of other forms of sustenance. You can continue to eat regular meals in the Great Hall if you wish, but any food or drink you imbibe, with the exception of rainwater, is useless in fueling your body.”  
  
       Harry blinked. “Wait, does this mean you were feeding me earlier when you touched my hand?”  
  
       “Bravo, Potter. There's hope for you yet.” Snape took up his wand and reached through the barrier to trace the tip over Harry's palm. “Feel how sensitive you are?”  
  
       Harry turned as crimson as the Carysantha that had poisoned him, but managed to nod his head in the affirmative.  
  
       “You feed through touch, through skin on skin contact. Right now, part of your brain is registering the active stimulus to your skin and setting off an instinctive urge to feed, and that urge can be inescapable. This is why it is imperative that you do not touch anyone if you do not intend to feed from them. In time, you will learn how to control your intake instead of greedily draining your victim dry, but in this early stage you present a risk to everyone around you.”  
  
       Harry couldn't deny it. He was suddenly and inexplicably hungry. Ravenous, in fact. His darkening green gaze kept straying to Snape's gloved hands no matter how hard he tried to look elsewhere.  
  
       “And I meant what I said about compensation,” Snape taunted him with a cruel, knowing smile.   
  
       “I'd rather starve,” Harry snapped. No doubt Snape would find some humiliating menial task for him to do just as he did when giving Harry detention.   
  
       “I hardly think it will come to that,” Snape said, suddenly bored with the confrontational turn their talk had taken, and he steered them back to the 'facts' of Harry's new life.   
  
       “Like its botanical counterpart, a _leanan sidhe_ is affected by the changing of the seasons; hair, skin and eyes tend to turn darker or lighter depending on the time of year, and an increase in feedings occurs during the peak of the winter months. The _leanan sidhe_ also gives off a sweet scent that mimics the scent of the Carysantha flower and can be used to lure or sedate others. You know firsthand the power of that scent, so I won't go into detail, but it's another aspect of yourself that you will have to learn to control.”  
  
       “And we both know I'm aces at controlling myself,” Harry said, sneaking glances at Snape's hands.  
  
       “With the proper discipline, even you can learn self-control.”  
  
       “And I suppose you're going to teach it to me?”  
  
       Snape smirked. “Don't tempt me, Potter.”  
  
       Harry bit his tongue. It just felt so natural to snap back at Snape that most of the time the words had left his mouth before Harry was even aware of saying them, and he knew he'd go right on goading and baiting Snape if he didn't put a stop to it now. Bickering with his professor could wait. Right now his main concern was finding out all he could about being a _leanan sidhe_.  
  
       “I know you said that what happened to me is rare, but are there more people like me?”   
  
       “Yes, but not many. There are fewer than twenty full-blooded _leanan sidhe_ living in the wizarding world today, mainly due to the low odds of their creation as well as strict restrictions on the growing and handling of the Carysantha plant. The Ministry requires that all _leanan sidhe_ be registered and, if lacking a bondmate, be closely monitored as a means of protecting them from others and vice versa.”  
  
       “I have to be registered?”  
  
       “As a magical creature, yes.”  
  
       “And _monitored_?”   
  
       “Is there a reason this didn't sink in the first time I said it? Is your little mid-morning snack wearing off already?”  
  
       “It's a lot to take in!”  
  
       “You faced down the Dark Lord with far less whining.”  
  
       Harry scoffed at the comparison then fell silent.  
  
       “Ready to continue? Or shall I give you a few minutes to sulk?”  
  
       Harry gestured for Snape to go on, pointedly looking the other way.  
  
       “You will find the wizarding world is of two minds on the subject of the _leanan sidhe_. Most are wary of any creature that can bend others to its will. Even more so when that creature has been known to bring early death to some of its victims, but there are also those wizards and witches who would see a young _leanan sidhe_ as a prize and not a liability. After all, many aspects of the old Celtic legend are true, including the part where a _leanan sidhe_ acts as a muse to its victim – ”  
  
       Harry winced. “Can you please use a different word?”  
  
       “Donor, then. The act of being fed on triggers a response in the brain of the vic- ... _donor_ , setting off synapses and increasing brain activity. Think of it as a wit-sharpening potion, only a hundred times stronger. There are wizards who would kill for a tamed _leanan sidhe_ of their very own because the rewards of having your own personal muse far outweigh the risk it entails, which is another reason why the Ministry keeps such a close eye on them.”  
  
       “And here I thought I finally had the Ministry off my back,” Harry grumbled, more to himself than to Snape, but the professor seemed to realize that Harry was dangerously close to overloading on information and decided to end the lecture there.  
  
       “Read that book I gave you, _really read it_ , don't just let Granger read it for you and give you a synopsis. It will tell you more about the _leanan sidhe_. I’m sending your friends back in to keep an eye on you while I fetch a potion that will curb your appetite. Remember, no touching.”  
  
       Harry gritted his teeth against the almost magnetic pull that seized his body when Snape walked out of the room. Every time someone walked away from him, he felt it deep in his bones, as if something precious was being ripped away from him. That feeling eased considerably when Ron and Hermione came back into the room, and Harry relaxed enough to smile at them.   
  
       “So, he told you?” Hermione asked nervously.  
  
       “That I'm a soul-sucking fiend? Yes, he told me.”  
  
       “You consume energy, not souls,” Hermione pointed out.  
  
       “I'm practically a dementor.”  
  
       “Actually, a _leanan sidhe_ would be at the opposite end of the spectrum as a dementor,” Hermione said as she claimed the chair Snape had been sitting in. “A dementor makes its victims miserable, while a _leanan sidhe_ makes its victims happy – at least, temporarily.”  
  
       “Donors,” Harry corrected her. “Makes its _donors_ happy.”  
  
       She gave him a quizzical look.  
  
       “Never mind.” He stashed Snape's book under his pillow. He knew it was petty, but he didn't want Hermione to get her hands on it. If anyone was going to become an expert on the _leanan sidhe_ , it was going to be Harry. He was tired of everyone else knowing more about his own life than he did. “I forgot to ask Snape, but do you think I'll have to be here much longer?”  
  
       “Why? Want us to try and break you out?” Ron grinned and poked at the magical barrier that kept Harry confined to his bed.   
  
       “Snape made it pretty clear that escape is not an option.”  
  
       Ron rolled his eyes. “He acts like he's your warden.”  
  
       “Professor Snape has been very attentive to Harry, but only to help him,” Hermione spoke up in Snape's defense. “He's certified by the Ministry to research the Carysantha flower, so he knows what he's doing, unlike Madam Pomfrey who wanted to ship Harry off to St. Mungo's the instant he arrived in the infirmary.”  
  
       _Certified? So that's how he knows so much about the poison and its effects_ , Harry realized, but then he started to wonder why Snape would be so interested in a poisonous flower. Surely there weren't any uses for Carysantha petals in potions, right? Well, not any _beneficial_ uses. He could think of plenty of harmful ones ...  
  
       “He did convince Dumbledore to let you stay here,” Ron said grudgingly. “After all those years of trying to get you expelled, he's the one person who fought to keep you on as a student.”  
  
       Harry sat up a little straighter. “You mean they were going to make me leave Hogwarts?”  
  
       “Well, I'm pretty sure all Dumbledore wanted to do was send you to St. Mungo's until you were healthy enough to return, but I think some of the other teachers didn't think you should come back at all. Something about the reaction from parents and the Ministry if a – what was the word they used, Hermione?”  
  
       “Bond-less.”  
  
       “Right, if a bond-less _leanan sidhe_ was set free to roam the halls of Hogwarts. They talk like you're the most dangerous creature on earth. Load of rubbish, if you ask me.”  
  
       Hermione sighed. “I don't think the teachers themselves have anything against you, Harry, but you know how the wizarding world can be. Can you imagine how someone like Lucius Malfoy will react to hearing about your new status? He'll have the Ministry breathing down Dumbledore's neck in no time.”  
  
       “Well, I don't know about that ... ” Ron started to disagree but trailed off into an uneasy silence.  
  
       “Why? Don't you think he'd try and get Harry kicked out? Especially after Harry testified against him, fat lot of good _that_ did.”  
  
       “The Imperius Curse makes for a good alibi,” Harry muttered.  
  
       Ron rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn't look at Harry as he explained, “I just – look, Neville told me that ... that _leanan sidhe_ used to be kept as pets by dark wizards. That's one of the big reasons that the Ministry has all these rules about them. So, sure, Lucius Malfoy probably will try and make Harry suffer, but ...”  
  
       “Don't even say it,” Harry said, sickened by the idea of playing lap-dog to Lucius.  
  
       Hermione looked a little green, too, and she quickly changed the subject.  
  
       “Kingsley was here yesterday to speak to Dumbledore, so I think they're investigating who sent you the flower.”  
  
       “Good luck on that,” Ron said. “They never caught the owl who delivered it, and there wasn't a note attached or any writing on the package.”  
  
       Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled as he ranted, “I was supposed to have a boring year! One year, that's all I asked for. Is it really so wrong of me to want a taste of _normal_ for a change?”  
  
       “C'mon, mate, cheer up,” Ron said, leaning across the magical barrier in his earnest quest to make Harry feel better. As soon as he was across that boundary he got his first whiff of Harry's scent, and his movements slowed to a standstill. Whatever words of encouragement he'd planned to say died on his lips as he stared at Harry with unseeing eyes.  
  
       “Ron, you aren't supposed to cross the barrier,” Hermione said anxiously. The spike of her emotions was enough to have Harry looking up in surprise.  
  
       He locked eyes with Ron and no longer saw his best friend; instead, he saw a vibrant, boisterous bundle of energy and emotion vulnerable for the taking. The boost from Snape’s touch had faded to the point that Harry was back to feeling listless and scatterbrained, but with Ron’s close proximity he sensed a new strength gathering in his limbs and bringing clarity to his clouded brain. Colors and sounds popped out at him – the red of Ron’s hair, the healthy glow of his cheeks, the subtle rhythm of his breathing – and Harry found himself leaning closer, drawn to Ron like a flower stretching up towards the sun.  
  
       “Let me touch you,” he murmured, reaching out with hands that shook from need, and Ron moved wordlessly towards him, his blue eyes bright and glassy.  
  
       “Ron, get away from him!”   
  
       Hermione's shrill warning made Ron hesitate, a flicker of awareness returning to his vacant expression. Harry took advantage of his indecision to make a grab for Ron's hand, only to jam his knuckles against the magical barrier as Ron was suddenly whisked back to safety by an irate Snape.  
  
       “I give you one rule to follow – _just one_ – and you don’t even last an hour before you try to break it.”  
  
       Snape then whirled to face Ron with equal fury.  
  
       “And _you_ were told to stay behind the barrier. I wish I could believe that all I saved you from was a nasty headache, Weasley, in which case I might have skipped the rescue just to teach you a lesson, but an untamed _leanan sidhe_ has been known to feed on its victim until there was nothing left but a lifeless shell. I doubt Potter would have ever forgiven himself for killing you.”  
  
       Harry struggled between horror at the thought of hurting Ron and disappointment that he'd missed out on his next meal. Much to his surprise, the latter was winning out. Was this what he could expect from himself from now on? Was he destined to be a remorseless predator and a danger to everyone – even to those he professed to care for?  
  
       “Ahh, Potter is making his 'personal crisis' face. I am positively drowning in the nostalgia of it all.” Snape grabbed Ron by the back of his collar and steered him towards the door. “Come along, Weasley. You, too, Miss Granger. You can visit with Potter later. Right now, he needs his rest.”  
  
       “We'll be back soon,” Hermione promised Harry as she helped a dazed Ron stumble out of the room without smacking into anything.   
  
       He watched them go with that same feeling of loss, a feeling that had nothing to do with missing his friends but everything to do with missing the energy they gave off, as if he'd just been presented with a savory feast only to have it snatched away before he could take a single bite.   
  
       Snape started to leave as well, and Harry scrambled onto his knees and crawled to the end of the bed, pressing his palms up against the barrier that kept him prisoner.   
  
       “Wait!”  
  
       Snape paused in the doorway, a measure of amusement in his beetle-black eyes. “Yes, Potter?”  
  
       “I ... I ...”  
  
       “Spit it out.”  
  
       “I'm _hungry_.” Harry clenched his hands into fists. He knew how he must look, begging on his hands and knees, desperate for Snape's help and willing to debase himself to get it. Basically, it was what a younger Harry would have considered the stuff of nightmares, but it amazed Harry how little it bothered him when he focused on the memory of what Snape's touch had given him. The blow to his pride could be tolerated, but not the ache in his stomach.  
  
       “Yes, I'm glad you reminded me,” Snape said, walking back towards the bed.   
  
       Harry unconsciously pressed himself even closer to the magical barrier, eager for a second helping of Snape's uncommonly powerful energy, but instead of offering his hand to Harry, Snape offered a small vial of pea-green liquid.  
  
       “This is the potion you'll be drinking from now on to ease those hunger pains. It won't cure them completely, but it will help you control yourself between feedings.”  
  
       Harry stared down at the unappealing potion, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  
  
       “Cheer up, Potter. You'll only need to drink the potion for as long as it takes to learn a little of that self-control we discussed earlier.”  
  
       Snape's mocking smile haunted Harry long after the man himself had gone.

 

 


	3. A Hunger Like No Other

  
  
       Harry thought he knew what it was like to be hungry after all those years living half-starved with the Dursleys, but he quickly learned differently. The stomach pains he’d suffered growing up couldn’t compare to the agony of sitting in a classroom full of hormonal teenagers bursting with every possible emotion you could name. All of them oozed magic, energy and life, and Harry couldn’t even take off his gloves to sneak a little taste.  
  
       He only had himself to blame. The incident with Ron had proven to Snape that Harry couldn’t be trusted to obey even the simplest command, so the gloves he forced Harry to wear were charmed to remain on Harry’s hands at all times. When Harry had protested that this would make bathing difficult (and a few other things as well), Snape had smirked at him and told him to be ‘resourceful.’   
  
       _I bet he’s loving every minute of this,_ Harry thought sourly as he slumped down in his seat. He was in Charms, his last class of the day, and his sole attempt at perfecting the advanced hovering charm they’d been assigned had resulted in Harry’s textbook rocketing towards the ceiling before it came crashing down on Professor Flitwick’s head.   
  
       “Want to visit Hagrid after this?” Ron asked him in a whisper.  
  
       Harry sighed and whispered back, “I can't. I have to go down to the dungeons and get that potion from Snape.”  
  
       “We can wait for you.”   
  
       “Don't bother. He always keeps me there for at least an hour telling me how lucky I am that he knows how to make that potion. And now he's starting to quiz me on that bloody book, like he doesn't trust me to read it.”  
  
       “ _Have_ you been reading it?”  
  
       Harry scowled. “That's not the point.”  
  
       In truth, he'd only skimmed certain parts, picking out the positives and glossing over everything else. He skipped the chapter on famous deaths blamed on _leanan sidhe_ , and almost threw the book into the fireplace after reading the list of things that most _leanan sidhe_ feared, including heights and flying. So far he hadn't been brave enough to test that theory on his broom. He wasn't sure he could take the disappointment if it was true.  
  
       “I don't know why he's so interested,” he said, shoving his battered textbook back into his schoolbag. “I figured he would just give me the book, teach me how to make the potion, and leave me on my own like always. Instead, he's made me his pet project.”  
  
       “Or his lab experiment,” Ron said.   
  
       Harry tried not to show how much that suggestion bothered him.  
  
       They parted ways after Charms ended. Ron and Hermione headed off to spend some time with Hagrid while Harry trudged down to the dungeons to get his daily dose of Snape's vile appetite-curbing potion.  
  
       _I'm the victim here, so why does it feel like I'm being punished?_ Harry thought glumly.  
  
       It wasn't just the gag-inducing potion or the constant ache in his stomach, or even the gloves that never came off. Harry's change had sent him to the bottom rung of Hogwarts' social ladder. Students shunned him in the hallways and refused to sit near him in class. People he used to think of as friends now ignored him when he called out to them, or they pretended they had something else to do when he tried to start up a conversation. He couldn't walk in or out of the common room of his own House without hearing his name whispered along with rumors of what he might do to his fellow Gryffindors while they slept, or of what horrible curse would befall anyone who dared to touch him or go near him.  
  
       “Having a bad day, are you, Potter?”   
  
       Harry stirred from his dejected musings to see Draco Malfoy walking towards him down the corridor with Blaise Zabini at his side.   
  
       “Yes, and seeing your face just made it worse,” he snapped.   
  
       “Why so hostile? Blaise and I are only worried about you,” Draco crooned without an ounce of sincerity.   
  
       Blaise, who couldn’t stop staring at Harry, slowly nodded his head. “Right. Worried.”   
  
       Draco frowned and shot Blaise a puzzled look before re-affixing his sneer and turning back to Harry. “Enjoy your time at Hogwarts while you can, Potter. I have a feeling you won’t be around much longer.”   
  
       “Is that so?” Harry found himself shooting curious glances at Blaise as he sensed a change in the energy Blaise was giving off. He could feel a subtle deepening of some emotion that Blaise was harboring, an emotion that called to Harry like siren's song. Clearing his throat, he forced his gaze back to Draco. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t take your word on that. Dumbledore would have told me if he wanted me to leave.”   
  
       “Come off it, Potter. I know you’re a half-wit, but has it really escaped your notice that most of the student population is avoiding you? Even members of your own House talk about you behind your back and call you a freak. Do you think their parents are any happier about you being here? I can’t wait to see you kicked out on your – Blaise, what is _wrong_ with you?!”   
  
       Blaise had pushed Draco aside and was now throwing his arms around Harry’s neck.  
  
       “Gods, you smell good,” he said right before he planted a wet, juicy kiss on Harry’s lips.  
  
       Harry moaned as Blaise’s energy flowed into him, energy that was tainted with lust and aggression. He entertained the idea of breaking the kiss for a good two seconds until the hunger won out and he remained a passive participant of the embrace, letting Blaise think he was in control while taking exactly what he wanted from him in return.  
  
       “Let go of him, Potter.” Draco managed to break the two apart, but his nearness to Harry turned out to be his undoing. He breathed deeply of Harry’s scent that grew stronger as Harry fed. Blinking furiously, he stumbled back a few steps. “Wait, what are you doing to me?”  
  
       Harry reached out and pulled Draco back in, keeping him close so Draco would remain under his spell, then turned his attention back to Blaise who was eager to pick up where they’d left off.  
  
       Surprisingly, it wasn’t sexual for Harry. Though he could feel Blaise’s arousal running through him like wildfire, he felt detached from it all, as if he were watching it all happen from a comfortable distance. There was something lacking, as well. The energy he received from the kiss wasn’t nearly as intoxicating as the sense of power that it brought Harry. He couldn’t help but compare this feeding to his first one. Had Snape’s delicious energy ruined him for anyone else?  
  
       He took as much energy as he could from Blaise then watched him slump to the floor, limp as a rag doll. He hesitated, mentally bracing himself for the guilt and remorse he expected to consume him, but all he could feel was that knife-slice of hunger coupled with the lust he’d absorbed from Blaise. He wanted more of that energy. He _needed_ more. Abandoning all thought of right or wrong, he turned on a sleepy-eyed Draco, grabbing him by the front of his robes. He pulled him in close, delighted by the way Draco surrendered now without a fight, but he wasn't so far gone in his eagerness to feed that he would let an opportunity to humiliate Draco pass him by.   
  
       “Beg for it,” he said, capturing Draco’s gaze with his own.  
  
       Draco groaned and clutched at Harry’s shoulders to keep his balance, not drawn to Harry in the same way Blaise had been, but helpless under his scent all the same. “Please …”  
  
       Harry smirked and leaned in, gently brushing his lips against Draco’s. Just like with Blaise, Harry felt something was missing.  
  
       "Potter, what do you think you’re doing?”   
  
       Harry made a sound of frustration low in his throat before he shoved Draco aside. He wasn’t getting what he wanted from him anyway, and this new source of energy had a familiar, tempting flavor to it ...  
  
       _Snape_.   
  
       “How long did you feed on Zabini?” Snape brushed past Harry to get to Blaise's unconscious body. He bent down to check Blaise's pulse then touched his hand to Blaise's forehead and whispered a spell that brought a healthy redness back to those bluish lips. He waited until he was satisfied that Blaise wasn't at death's door before he stood up to face Harry.  
  
       “This is the point in our conversation where you attempt to form a coherent response,” Snape said, prodding him for an answer. His black gaze darted over to where Draco was swaying on his feet before he focused intently on Harry’s face.   
  
       Instead of replying to Snape’s question, Harry dove in for a kiss. He was instinctively aware that the third time would be the charm and he would finally get the satisfaction he craved, but Snape stopped him by holding his gloved hand over Harry’s mouth.   
  
       “I’m not your dessert. Now tell me what happened here.” He took his hand away so Harry could answer.  
  
       _Why isn’t he affected by me?_ Harry wondered. He found himself more excited by Snape’s resistance than he’d ever been by Blaise’s and, eventually, Draco’s compliance. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, completely disconnected from the Harry he used to be as he strained to get closer to Snape. "It’s your fault. You won’t let me take off my gloves and I’m _starving_. Blaise kissed _me_. He offered himself to me. I didn’t ask for it."   
  
       “Blaming me for your lack of control is only inviting trouble, Potter. And ‘offered’ or not, you know better than to take energy from a fellow student. Haven’t I warned you about this already?”   
  
       “Punish me, then. Give me detention.”   
  
       “Sucking the life out of a schoolmate warrants a harsher punishment than scrubbing out cauldrons.”  
  
       “Then think of something else!” Harry failed to keep the desperation from his voice as he clutched at the front of Snape’s robes. His blazing green gaze zeroed in on Snape’s mouth; his voice softened to a persuasive purr. “Just let me taste you and I’ll accept whatever punishment you want to give me.”   
  
       Snape looked down at him in tense silence, his eyes gleaming like polished jet against his sallow skin. His voice was cold and unaffected when he finally said, “I didn’t think you would be this insatiable. Perhaps I can give you a little something to tide you over.”   
  
       Thinking he’d won, Harry leaned in for a kiss only to have Snape hold him off with one hand while he dug in his robes with the other.   
  
       “What are you – ” Harry’s eyes widened when he saw the tell-tale green of the object Snape retrieved. He started to back away as Snape uncorked it, but his arm was held fast in Snape’s grip.   
  
       “ _Drink_ ,” Snape ordered, forcing the lip of the vial against Harry’s mouth and pouring the ghastly green sludge down his throat.   
  
       The potion worked almost instantly. It cooled Harry’s fevered blood and eased the urgent hunger that had driven him to accost nearly three people in a matter of minutes, never mind that Blaise had technically started it.   
  
       Snape tucked the empty vial back into his robes and turned to Draco, who was helping a shaky Blaise get back on his feet.  
  
       “Draco, take Mr. Zabini to the infirmary and have Madame Pomfrey examine you both.”  
  
       “You’ll pay for this, Potter,” Draco hissed over his shoulder as he helped Blaise down the hallway. “You’ll wish you’d never touched me.”  
  
       “Way ahead of you, Malfoy,” Harry muttered, a little queasy now that he was in his right mind. Granted, he hadn't acted out of an attraction to Draco, but a kiss was a kiss, no matter what motivated it. Maybe later he'd _scourgify_ his lips.  
  
       “You shouldn’t take his threats so lightly,” Snape admonished Harry. His fingers dug painfully into Harry’s arm as he started pulling him down the hall in the opposite direction of Blaise and Draco. His voice was tight and strained as he berated Harry. “What you did is considered assault. There are some wizards who would go so far as to call it attempted murder, especially if their son is one of the victims.”  
  
       Harry cringed. It did sound like something Lucius would claim, and Harry's history with Draco would make the charge believable.  
  
       “Do you understand me, Potter? You could be expelled ... or worse. Far worse.”  
  
       “But Blaise -”  
  
       “- attacked you? _Forced_ you to feed? And who will believe that? He's the one who ended up unconscious on the floor, not you. And Draco will not back up your story if it comes to a trial.”  
  
       _Trial?_ The seriousness of the situation started to sink in for Harry. He didn't even protest when Snape made a sharp turn and led him straight into his office, a place Harry hadn't visited since those failed Occlumency lessons in his fifth year.  
  
       “I see now that I should have taken a firmer hand with you from the start.” Snape slammed the office door shut with a vicious slash of his wand. He dragged Harry up to the desk then let go of his arm with a slight shove.  
  
       “ _Firmer_? You magically glued gloves to my hands!”   
  
       “And still you managed to make a mess of things. Honestly, Potter, why do I even bother?”  
  
       Harry bristled under Snape’s well-aimed attacks. “If I’m so hopeless, why don’t you just leave me alone? Why do you care what happens to me? What’s in it for you?”  
  
       Snape eyes glittered dangerously as he backed Harry up against the desk. He looked like he wanted to hit Harry. Instead, he reached around Harry and laid his wand on the desk.  
  
       “What was that little deal you tried to make with me? Do you remember?”  
  
       Harry blinked, thrown off balance by this new line of questioning. “What deal?”  
  
       “A taste, right? Wasn’t that the price? I give you a taste and in return you accept my punishment.”  
  
       Harry's heart hammered in his chest as Snape pinned him against the desk.   
  
       “Answer me, Potter. Isn't that what you said?”  
  
       “Y-yes,” Harry stuttered. That hot, fluttery feeling was back in his stomach, but he didn't have Blaise's inherited emotions to blame it on this time.   
  
       “Close your eyes.”  
  
       Harry hesitated, not sure what Snape planned to do. After a short pause he did as he was told. He’d kissed Draco, after all. What harm could there be in kissing Snape? Knowing the quality of energy he’d be getting from that kiss helped Harry dismiss any lingering doubts, and he waited impatiently for his ‘taste.’  
  
       Several seconds flew by and nothing happened. Harry’s palms were sweaty as he braced himself against the edge of the desk. He ran his tongue over his lips nervously, wondering when Snape was going to get started. Just as he started to get really anxious, he felt Snape’s hands opening his robes. His fingers ran down the front of Harry’s chest to his waist, where they promptly began to unfasten his trousers.  
  
       “Professor, I – ”   
  
       “Shut up, Potter, or I’ll send you off to bed with no supper.”  
  
       Harry swallowed hard as he felt Snape’s hand delve into his trousers and cup his cock through his boxers. His arms shook as he kept a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk, biting his lip to keep from moaning as Snape expertly massaged him into hardness. He’d never been touched like this before ... well, except for when he’d touched himself. Having Snape’s hand shoved down his pants sent a thrill through Harry that he couldn’t explain.  
  
       “Are you ready for your taste?” Snape’s voice never wavered, completely controlled. It irritated Harry, who doubted he could produce one coherent word, let alone a whole sentence. He simply nodded his head, eyes shut tight.  
  
       Snape chuckled and released him long enough to tug Harry’s boxers down his thighs, freeing Harry’s cock but limiting how much he could move his legs. Another agonizing minute of waiting passed for Harry before he finally felt those long, warm fingers curling around his shaft. In the few seconds that preceded the complete shut-down of his brain, he realized one thing:  
  
       _Snape wasn’t wearing his gloves anymore_.  
  
       The pleasure hit Harry like a tidal wave. The energy he’d absorbed from Snape through his hand that first day had felt unbelievably good, but he knew now that it was a drop in the bucket compared to what it felt like to have bare fingers stroking up and down his cock. He hadn’t even imagined what it would be like to have sex as a _leanan sidhe_ ; the absolute bliss he felt from feeding this way made him an instant addict.   
  
       “More,” he said, pleading with Snape just as Draco had pleaded with him. The power shift wouldn’t occur to him until later, when he would once again ask himself why Snape didn’t seem to fall under his spell like so many others. Questions would have to wait, though. Harry could only exist in the moment, with Snape’s fingers bringing him closer and closer to the fulfillment that had eluded him twice already.  
  
       He didn’t last long. It was too much, too fast, and he was still a teenager, one with limited sexual experience at that. He arched back against the desk as he came into Snape’s hand, breathless with the intensity of it. His body and mind were so alert, so alive with Snape’s energy that he felt like he could face down a thousand Voldemorts without breaking a sweat.   
  
       Snape milked the last few drops of sticky come out of Harry’s softening cock before releasing it and cleaning his hand with a silent spell. He did the same for Harry then stood back to study the flushed, half-naked body of his student, that undefined frustration lurking again in his dark gaze.  
  
       “Fix your clothes,” he said as he put his gloves back on. He watched the entire time as Harry pulled up his boxers and his trousers. His closed expression gave nothing away, though the corners of his mouth did twitch a little when Harry fumbled with his zipper.  
  
       When Harry’s clothes were back in order, Snape grasped his chin and glared at him. “Let’s get one thing straight, Potter. _I_ say when you can feed. It isn’t up to you. If you follow only one rule, let it be that one.”  
  
       Harry wanted to rebel, to tell Snape that giving Harry a fantastic orgasm didn’t mean he could control Harry’s life in return, but his mouth circumvented his brain and he was agreeing before he realized it, uttering a meek, “Yes, sir.”  
  
       Snape smirked at Harry’s quick compliance. He brushed his gloved thumb over Harry’s lower lip. “And keep your lips to yourself. I won’t tolerate you kissing every boy or girl who shows an interest. You’re mi–”  
  
       He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and started again.  
  
       “You’re much too impulsive. If you get that hungry, come see me. I’ll give you exactly what you need.”  
  
       He walked Harry to the door, opened it, and left Harry standing there without another word. No polite ‘good night’ or ‘goodbye’ or anything. He sat down at the very desk where he’d brought Harry to orgasm and began furiously taking notes, as if his quill was racing to keep up with his mind.  
  
       Harry stood red-faced in the doorway. “What about my punishment?”  
  
       Snape stopped writing and looked up at him; his dark eyes gleamed with devilish amusement. “That comes later, when you’re sleepless tonight because you can’t stop thinking about how much you enjoyed my touch.”  
  
       _Bastard_ , Harry thought. He stomped out of the office and shut the door behind him with a satisfying bang. 


	4. The Carysian Bond

 

  
       Harry didn’t know what to expect when he was summoned to Dumbledore's office a few days later.  
  
       When no one had said anything to him the morning after his run-in with Blaise and Draco, Harry had naively dismissed all his worries, foolish enough to think that Draco wouldn’t go through with his threats. When he walked into Dumbledore’s office and saw Lucius Malfoy, he knew his troubles had just begun.  
  
       “Thank you for coming so quickly, Harry,” Dumbledore said, inviting Harry to take the chair farthest from Lucius. Two empty chairs separated them. “We are waiting for Professor Snape and a representative from the Ministry. I am sure they will be joining us soon.”  
  
       Snape was going to be there, too? Harry’s face burned with embarrassment. Not content with just that one taste, he’d been going back to his professor’s office every night since, letting Snape stroke him or suck him into orgasm then creeping back to the dormitory buzzing on Snape’s energy. They’d been incredibly discreet about it. Surely Dumbledore hadn’t found out … right? His red cheeks and guilty expression did not go unnoticed by Lucius. He appeared to enjoy watching Harry squirm in his seat, if the vindictive smile curving his lips was any indication.  
  
       “Ahh, here they are.”   
  
       Harry turned in his seat to see Snape entering the room followed by a lovely witch with long red hair and pale blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face. Her porcelain-perfect features were off-set by the sharpness of her gaze, giving her a somewhat defiant expression. She carried a slim briefcase in one silver-gloved hand and her wand in the other.  
  
       Snape didn’t even look at Harry as he took the seat next to Lucius, returning the blond wizard’s greeting with a scowl and a grunt.  
  
       Dumbledore smiled as the doll-faced witch placed her briefcase on the edge of his desk. “Harry, I’d like you to meet Clio Blackburn.”  
  
       "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry," she said, holding out her hand to him. When he shook it, he felt ... nothing, no undercurrent of energy against the material of his glove, and no hint of emotion or magic from the woman standing before him. His surprise must have registered on his face because she quickly explained, " _Leanan sidhe_ don't give off energy the same as humans do. Our bodies are built to gather and store energy, not expend it, so we tend to give off a 'dead zone' feeling to each other if we happen to meet."  
  
       Harry’s face brightened with a smile. “You’re a _leanan sidhe_?”  
  
       “For the past twenty years,” Clio said, echoing his smile with one of her own.  
  
       Dumbledore continued his introduction. "Ms. Blackburn is the Ministry's Rare Species Liaison from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”  
  
       “And she’s holding up this meeting,” Lucius cut in, putting an end to the introductions. “Can we please get to the matter at hand?”  
  
       “Yes, of course.”  
  
       Dumbledore gestured for Clio to take the seat next to Harry.  
  
       “Under different circumstances, it would be Ms. Blackburn who would register you with the Ministry and inform you of all the special rules that apply to _leanan sidhe_ , but today she will be representing you in the matter of the recent altercation –"  
  
       " _Assault_ ," Lucius interjected.  
  
       "– to make absolutely sure that all your rights are protected," Dumbledore finished, ignoring Lucius and smiling kindly at Harry.  
  
       That benevolent smile did little to settle Harry’s nerves.  
  
       “Why don’t you tell us what happened during the day in question,” Clio said, pulling a quill and a leather-bound notebook out of her briefcase.   
  
       Harry took a deep breath and described the events as he remembered them, from meeting and arguing with Draco in the hallway to being kissed by Blaise and then kissing Draco. He ended his testimony with Snape showing up and forcing him to drink the nasty potion that brought him back to his senses. He didn’t say anything about trying to kiss Snape, and he certainly didn’t confess what had occurred later in Snape’s office.  
  
       Clio looked concerned. “Then you admit that Draco was an unwilling participant in your feeding?”  
  
       “He just confessed to it, Blackburn,” Lucius snapped. “You heard it with your own ears.”  
  
       Clio’s jaw tightened but she made no other acknowledgment of Lucius’s outburst. “The Ministry can be lenient in cases where the feeding was unsolicited, but if you had to use scent or seduction to coerce your victim – ”  
  
       “Donor,” Snape and Harry spoke up at the same time. Dumbledore hid a smile, and Lucius narrowed his eyes at Snape.  
  
       “We can use the word donor, if you like. In fact, I think I prefer it myself. Now, then, if you had to actively use scent or seduction to coerce your _donor_ into allowing you to feed, the Ministry deems this an assault which carries several penalties, depending on the severity of the attack. Are you sure that Draco was unwilling?”  
  
       “This is absurd!” Lucius thumped his fist on the arm of his chair.  
  
       “Be quiet, Lucius,” Snape said, flashing him a threatening glare.  
  
       “No, my son is the victim here and I will not – ”  
  
       “Yes, he was unwilling,” Harry blurted out before Lucius could finish his rant. “Like I said, he tried to stop me from feeding from Blaise and I … well, I did _something_ , I guess, because he stopped fighting me and just stood there.”  
  
       “Your scent is a powerful tranquilizer,” Clio said, her eyes full of sympathy for Harry’s situation. “You haven’t learned how to control it yet, and it naturally grows stronger when you are feeding. Don’t beat yourself up about this, Harry. We all make mistakes in the beginning.”  
  
       “Pardon me for disturbing this heartwarming moment,” Lucius said coolly, once more composed and aloof, “but Potter never mentioned the added humiliation he put my son through before assaulting him.”  
  
       “And what humiliation would that be?” Clio asked curiously.  
  
       Harry took a sudden interest in the carpet. He’d glossed over the part where he told Draco to beg; now it seemed Lucius was going to use it against him. He quietly explained what he’d done, clarifying that he’d been a little drunk on power at the time, but it still sounded horrible, even to his own ears.  
  
       He looked over at Clio, expecting to see disappointment or disgust on her face, but her blue eyes were bright with amusement as she leaned in to confide, “I once made an ex-boyfriend strip naked before I would feed from him, and when his back was turned I banished his clothes and stunned him. He woke up chained to a lamp post in Muggle London.”  
  
       Lucius folded his arms over his chest and glared at Clio. “No one wants to hear about your sordid past, Blackburn.”  
  
       Clio just grinned and winked at Harry.  
  
       Snape frowned at them both then sat up a little taller, as if something had just clicked in his brain. “Wait, didn’t you and Blackburn – ”  
  
       “Enough of this idle chatter,” Lucius said, preventing Snape from finishing his sentence. "Let's get right to the heart of the matter. The issue remains that Mr. Potter attacked two students yesterday, an offense that cannot be overlooked simply because of his dubious reputation as a 'hero' to the wizarding world. As a _leanan sidhe_ , he is a danger and a menace to everyone around him …"   
  
       Lucius rested his silvery gaze on Harry, his lips twisting into a malicious smirk. "… as long as he remains bond-less, that is."  
  
       "So your plan is to force the issue of bonding?" Clio jumped on Lucius's sly insinuation with a shrewdness that impressed Harry. He felt more secure knowing his representative wasn't afraid to stand up to the likes of Lucius Malfoy. "I have to wonder why your first suggestion is bonding instead of expulsion. Perhaps you intend to offer yourself as a possible candidate?"  
  
       "Why not? I am as qualified as anyone to assume that role. And this isn’t merely a suggestion. I have Ministry-approved papers that say Potter must enter into a Carysian bond within the next two weeks."  
  
       Snape and Clio both shot looks of disbelief at Lucius. Dumbledore dismissed this news with an impatient wave of his hand.  
  
       “No, absolutely not. Carysian bonds haven’t been used in nearly a century. This is far too severe a punishment to give to a recently-turned magical creature. Allowances _must_ be made.”  
  
       “This judgment is legal and binding, I assure you.” Lucius produced an official-looking document adorned with various stamps and seals. “Even you cannot overturn it, Dumbledore.”  
  
       Dumbledore scanned the document with a deepening frown. When he was finished he handed it to Clio. “It appears Mr. Malfoy is not bluffing.”  
  
       “Only a cold-hearted disaster of a human being would demand a Carysian bond as punishment for an eighteen-year-old with no prior history of violence,” Clio said, handing the document to Snape with an air of digust. “This sort of vengeful persecution won’t stand up before the Wizengamot. You’ll lose when we make our appeal.”  
  
       “There will be no appeals,” Lucius said smoothly. “The Ministry believes that Mr. Potter, who has proven himself powerful enough to defeat the greatest dark wizard in recent memory, is too high-risk to leave to his own devices, and a Carysian bond is designed specifically to tame a wild _leanan sidhe_. The Minister himself approved this course of action. Potter only sealed his fate when he was stupid enough to attack my son.”  
  
       Snape tossed the document back at Lucius. “When is the Choosing?”  
  
       “If all goes well, it can be conducted at the end of next week.”  
  
       “Let me know when there is a fixed date,” he said, and with that he stood up and stalked out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.  
  
       Lucius smirked and turned to the remaining three members of the meeting. “Well, it seems Severus has accepted the inevitable. Anyone else care to admit defeat?”  
  
       Dumbledore looked as if he was trying his hardest not to throttle Lucius. “That decree never mentioned what would happen to Harry if he failed to comply with the Ministry’s decision.”  
  
       “Oh, there’s little anyone could do to Mr. Potter if he mysteriously disappeared, but you, my dear Headmaster, would bear the brunt of the Ministry’s anger. It was your decision to keep Potter on as a student, and you also failed to implement security measures that would keep incidents like this from happening. You’ve made yourself an accomplice to his crimes, or at least that’s how the Ministry will see it. There would be a trial, of course, and the Ministry would have no choice but to remove you from your position. Is it worth losing your job to protect Potter from a simple bonding?”  
  
       “There is nothing simple about it, Lucius, and yes, protecting Harry is worth losing my place as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I owe him that much and more.”  
  
       Lucius stood up. “I see. Well, if you want to make a fugitive of Potter and a martyr of yourself, then I suppose I have no choice but to – ”  
  
       “I’ll do it,” Harry said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his name scrawled itself on the bottom of the Ministry's decree. He’d been listening to everyone else argue it out, but the decision was his to make in the end. He didn’t know what a Carysian bond entailed, but the word ‘bond’ itself made him think of shackles and servitude, so he doubted it would be pleasant. He could live with that, though. He _couldn’t_ live with being the reason that Dumbledore left Hogwarts. The school needed its Headmaster, and Harry had never been good with guilt, so the answer was clear. He had to accept the Ministry’s decree.  
  
       “I trust you two will serve as witnesses to this verbal agreement?” Lucius tucked the Ministry document into his robes for safekeeping as he smugly glanced at Clio and Dumbledore.   
  
       “You’ve made quite an enemy here today, Lucius,” Dumbledore stated gravely. Gone were his diplomatic smiles and gentle rebukes. He angrily raised his wand and pointed at the door. “Now get out of my office before I decide the stay in Azkaban would be worth killing you.”  
  
       Dumbledore's threat wiped the smirk off of Lucius's face. He stormed out of the office without another word.  
  
       “Oh, Harry,” Clio said softly. “You don't know what you've done.”  
  
       “There is a time and place for self-sacrifice,” Dumbledore said gruffly, though the warmth had returned to his eyes as he looked at Harry.  
  
       “Is a Carysian bond that terrible?” Harry belatedly wondered if such a bond was discussed in the book Snape gave him. He'd skipped all the bad parts because they only depressed him. Now he wished he'd been a bit more thorough in his reading.  
  
       Clio tapped her fingers on the top of her notebook then looked at Dumbledore. “Can I have a few moments alone with Harry?”  
  
       “Of course. I wanted to have a word with Severus anyway, so take all the time you need.” Dumbledore started to leave, briefly pausing by Harry's chair to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. That small gesture of support meant more to Harry than all the kind words Dumbledore might have offered in its place. Dumbledore said his farewells to both of them then left the room.  
  
       Clio waited until they were alone before yanking off her gloves and flexing her fingers. “Ahh, much better. Go ahead, Harry, take yours off, too. If we're going to discuss something this disagreeable, we might as well be comfortable while doing it.”  
  
       Harry stared enviously at Clio's bare hands. His own hands hadn't felt fresh air in almost a week.  
  
       “Well?” Clio looked at him expectantly.  
  
       “They don't come off,” he said. “They're charmed to stay on.”  
  
       Clio pursed her lips into a frown.  
  
       “Snape says I can't be trusted,” he hurried to explain, adding ruefully, “and I guess I proved him right.”  
  
       “I'm sure an expert like Professor Snape realizes that a newly-turned _leanan sidhe_ is impulsive and unpredictable.” Clio put her gloves in her briefcase along with her notebook and quill. “He probably thought he was helping you.”  
  
       Harry shrugged and looked down at his hands. He had no clue what Snape's motives were. Was it being helpful to give a student a hand job?   
  
       “I promise you won't be stuck wearing those gloves for the rest of your life,” Clio promised, misinterpreting Harry's downcast expression. “Now, let's discuss the bond they're forcing on you.”  
  
       Harry perked up and gave Clio his full attention.  
  
       “A Carysian bond is unbreakable. It’s archaic and inhumane, but the Ministry never banned it because _leanan sidhe_ are still considered sub-human and therefore we have to fight twice as hard for basic human rights. Of course, the fact that we once _were_ human isn’t taken into consideration at all. Don’t even try to wrap your brain around that one, Harry, because you’ll go mad. Just keep in mind that for every unfair rule that still exists, we’ve managed to abolish a dozen worse ones.”  
  
       Harry nodded and tried not to panic at the words _unbreakable_ and _inhumane_.  
  
       “The Carysian bond is named after the flower that creates a _leanan sidhe_. Many textbooks refer to it as a violation or a rape. It doesn't require any officiates to perform the binding spell, and it doesn't matter whether the leanan sidhe consents to it or not, so you can imagine how many dark wizards made use of it to force a leanan sidhe into their employment. It was invented by a nasty little toad of a wizard named Cadmus Webbley when he wanted to enslave his half-sister, the child of a leanan sidhe. What Cadmus didn't realize was that only a very powerful wizard can withstand a lifetime of feedings from a _leanan sidhe_ , and he died after only a year.”  
  
       “He made his own sister bond with him?” Harry couldn't think of a more fitting punishment for Cadmus Webbley than to die because of his own greed.   
  
       “It gets worse.”  
  
       “Doesn't it always?” Harry asked wearily.  
  
       “The Carysian bond requires physical consummation to be complete.”  
  
       Harry didn't like the sound of that.  
  
       “Which means sex.”  
  
       And now he knew why.  
  
       “But just the one time,” Clio assured him, not that it helped much. “The original Carysian bond would have put you entirely under the control of your bondmate, but Mr. Malfoy seems to forget that the wizarding world has progressed since the Dark Ages and we now have laws to protect _leanan sidhe_ from situations like this. You won't become anyone's sex slave.”  
  
       “Good to know,” Harry mumbled. He was starting to see why Dumbledore had been so adamantly opposed to Harry's bonding.  
  
       “It’s better to go into this kind of bond with the mind-set that it’s a business arrangement, not a relationship. Your bondmate allows you to feed in exchange for a heightened state of intelligence and creativity. A magical contract is drawn up beforehand to set boundaries for how you and your bondmate interact. For instance, you can limit physical contact to feedings only.”  
  
       “And can the other person do the same?”  
  
       “No, only the _leanan sidhe_ is allowed to decide the terms of the contract.”  
  
       “How do I choose a bondmate?”   
  
       Clio sighed. “This is where the Ministry’s idiocy factors in ...”  
  
       Harry braced himself for the bad news, though he didn't see how it could be worse than knowing he'd be losing his virginity during a ritual meant to punish him.  
  
       “The Ministry decided that all eligible candidates who agree to the terms of the bonding contract should be allowed to participate in the Choosing. When the day arrives, each candidate surrenders his wand. You will be asked to choose one of those wands relying on intuition alone. The Ministry believes this is the only fair and unbiased way to assign a bondmate.”  
  
       “That’s ridiculous!” Harry couldn’t believe the Ministry would force strangers together like that, especially when the bond required sex to complete it.  
  
       “Yes, I know, which is why we in the Rare Species office worked hard to have that particular bond replaced with something more … humane. I never dreamed the Ministry would use it as a punishment for such a minor offense. Obviously, corruption and evil in the wizarding world didn't die along with Voldemort. Just look at Lucius.”  
  
       “Do you really think he’ll be a candidate?”  
  
       “Yes, and that’s why it’s better to be as specific as possible in your contract. Think of the worst possible scenario – say, like choosing Lucius’s wand – and create a contract that would make that bond bearable for you.”  
  
       “I can’t see Lucius sticking with the terms of any contract. What’s to stop him from doing whatever he wants?”  
  
       “This magical contract is as unbreakable as the bond itself. No matter how much your bondmate wants to violate a term of the contract, he'll find himself unable to do it. We take every precaution these days, Harry, so try not to worry.”  
  
       Harry felt better knowing he wouldn't be the only one affected by the bond, but it still didn't change the fact that his entire future was now in the hands of the Ministry. He allowed himself a moment of self-pity, vowing to himself that one day he would find the person who sent him the Carysantha flower and curse that person into oblivion.   
  
       Turning to Clio, he asked evenly, “What do I need to do first?”   
  
  


* * * * * * * * *

  
  
  
       That evening, Harry decided to give Ron and Hermione the watered-down version of the meeting in Dumbledore’s office. He told them about the bonding, without giving them any of the gory details. Instead, he let them think it was a formality, a way for him to find a permanent donor for his feedings. They were happy to believe him, though Hermione found it barbaric that Harry couldn’t pick his own bondmate.  
  
       He tried valiantly to keep things normal. He listened to Hermione complain about losing her favorite study nook in the library to a group of giggly first years. He echoed Ron’s envy over the new brooms that Slytherin’s quidditch team had been bragging about since the start of the school year. He played the part of Harry Potter to perfection -- if only he could believe he was still that person, someone who would have felt like part of their circle instead of like an imposter. It pained him to lose that old rhythm he used to have with his friends, but too much had changed. The gulf between their world and his widened more and more each day.  
  
       “I’m going for a walk,” he said in the middle of Ron’s story about Neville tripping face-first into a bowl of buttered squash.  
  
       “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” Ron said, a little hurt that Harry didn’t want to hear the rest of the story. “Is it some _leanan sidhe_ quirk that makes you want to roam the halls at night?”  
  
       Harry just shrugged and walked away.   
  
       “Don’t let Snape catch you!” Hermione called after him.   
  
       “I’ll be sure to run the other way,” Harry lied.   
  
  


* * * * * * * * *

  
  
  
       The more he thought about the meeting, the faster Harry walked, taking staircases two steps at a time and ignoring all the friendly portraits who greeted him along the way. Before he knew it, he was walking down the gloomy corridors of the dungeons, drifting like an aimless ghost down one hallway and up another. He kept hoping to see a flourish of dark robes or catch a glimpse of pale skin and greasy hair, but the dungeons were eerily quiet and devoid of life. He even tried the unlit, cobweb-covered passageway that led into the deepest dungeon where students had once endured far worse detentions than Harry could imagine.   
  
       No luck.  
  
       He had decided to give up and turn back when a familiar shiver danced up his spine, alerting him to a powerful source of mouth-watering energy headed his way. He saw the muted glow of a wand-tip bouncing about in the darkness, coming closer and closer to where he stood.   
  
       “This part of the school is off-limits to students.” Snape snuffed out his lumos spell and lit a torch on the wall, casting a dim halo of light over the small passageway. “What’s your excuse for breaking the rules this time, Potter? Looking to have some fun with the whips and chains?”  
  
       Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out. There were so many options – _I was looking for you; I’m not sure what I want; I needed to take my mind off my impending semi-marriage to a stranger ..._ He couldn’t bring himself to say any of those things. He just stared at Snape, looking sad-eyed and slightly ridiculous with cobwebs in his hair and a long streak of old-as-Hogwarts dust on his cheek.  
  
       Snape seemed bent on giving Harry a lecture. “You’re too old to be running around the halls like an ignorant first year.”  
  
       “I wasn’t running around,” Harry said indignantly.  
  
       “Ahh, he speaks!” Snape circled Harry, putting away his wand as he gave Harry a good once-over. “And does he now have an explanation for his presence in the dungeons?”  
  
       “I never needed to have an explanation before,” was Harry’s cheeky response, alluding to the nights when Snape had been pleased to invite Harry back into his office.  
  
       Snape pushed him back against the stone wall with one hand, making sure Harry couldn’t escape him as he brought his other hand to his mouth and used his teeth to tug off his glove.  
  
       “Are you hungry?” His naked fingers ghosted over Harry’s cheek, close enough that Harry could feel the heat radiating off them but never close enough to give him what he wanted. “Is that why you came here? Or was there something else on your mind?”  
  
       The atmosphere had gone from snarky banter to thick sexual tension in a matter of seconds, too abrupt of a change for Harry to comprehend. He only knew that one touch of Snape’s hand would bring him the quick fix he needed to get through to tomorrow, even if it cost him another sleepless night agonizing over his body’s immediate response to a man he’d once hated.  
  
       Snape didn’t wait for Harry to answer. He forced his leg between Harry’s thighs and rubbed up against his crotch. “Do you know how much I want to punish you? Do you realize what we – what you might lose because of your stupidity the other day?”  
  
       “It was Blaise – ” Harry started to protest but Snape cut him off with a growl.  
  
       “You could have controlled yourself.” He began to grind their clothed cocks against each other, grunting when Harry gave a small thrust in return. He reached down and slid his hand under Harry’s t-shirt, his fingertips blazing a hot trail up Harry’s side then fanning out over his back. Harry arched away from the wall with a moan, caught between the electric flow of Snape’s energy against his skin and the feel of Snape’s cock rubbing against his through their clothes.   
  
       “Lucius couldn’t keep his eyes off you today. Did you enjoy it? Did it make you feel as powerful as you did when you had Draco begging you to kiss him?”  
  
       Snape’s anger and lust were inseparable, joining together into one stinging emotion, piercing Harry again and again in time with Snape’s thrusting hips. He couldn’t say no to the violent energy rushing through his body; he wanted all of Snape, even the darkness. He knew this could be his last chance to taste it.  
  
       Harry’s refusal to answer, unless it was to moan, only infuriated Snape more. He pulled his hand out from under Harry’s shirt, hoisted him up against the wall and started to thrust against him in earnest. It was the closest to fucking that Harry had ever been, and the intensity of it was making his head spin. He grabbed Snape’s shoulders and held on, his thighs trembling in Snape’s grip. His eyes shut tight as he called out for more.  
  
       Snape panted heavily against Harry’s neck. His lips occasionally brushed against the pale skin of Harry’s throat, making Harry cry out in shock from the tiny fireworks it set off in his mind. Snape sucked hard on that smooth flesh and Harry came hard in his trousers, a warm wet stain spreading over his crotch. Snape froze as Harry spasmed in his arms, a hushed groan escaping him as Harry shook with the force of his release. He lowered Harry back to his feet, supporting him only long enough for Harry to get the feeling back in his legs.   
  
       “Don't forget what this feels like,” he hissed in Harry's ear, pressing his palm against the still-twitching cock in Harry’s damp trousers and eliciting a tortured moan from Harry’s lips. “I want you to burn it into your memory. No one else will ever make you feel like this. No one else can give you what you need. Only me.”  
  
       Harry broke free and staggered down the passageway. He _wanted_ to forget how good it felt. He wanted to rip every memory of Snape’s touch out of his brain. Remembering it would only bring pain and regret when he ended up bonded to some stranger next week.  
  
       “You'll never stop wanting this,” Snape taunted him as Harry walked away. “You'll never be satisfied with anyone else.”  
  
       Harry had the sinking feeling that Snape was right.

 


	5. The Wand Chooses The Wizard

  
       Harry's knee jiggled nervously as he sat with Clio outside the Great Hall.   
  
       “What's taking so long?”  
  
       He jumped to his feet and started to pace back and forth in front of the large double doors. The day of the Choosing had arrived, and Harry just wanted to pick a wand and move on. Dumbledore insisted on holding the Choosing at Hogwarts to lessen the risk of tampering. Apparently, the wands had to be placed in such a way that no one wand stood out more than the other, and Dumbledore himself had volunteered for the task of sorting them.  
  
       “How many wands could there possibly be?” Harry flopped back down in the chair next to Clio.  
  
       “One thousand, two hundred and thirty-three,” Clio rattled off casually, peering through a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles at Harry's bonding contract to make sure everything was in order.  
  
       Harry gaped at her.  
  
       She felt his eyes on her and looked up. “What? Not enough? I realize someone of your reputation should have drawn a larger number, but you did specify wizards-only, so ...”  
  
       “I thought there would be more like a hundred, maybe two.” Harry fell back into his seat, overwhelmed.  
  
       “Seventy-five percent of those wands won't be powerful enough to get your attention. You should be glad there's such a variety to pick from or else you might end up with someone whose energy doesn't _do it_ for you. People tend to think _leanan sidhe_ are happy with whatever energy they can get their hands on, which is not true. We have a demanding palate.”   
  
       Harry popped out of his seat, walked another ten rounds in front of the door, then sat back down. The only part of the day he could look forward to was the moment he got to feed from his bondmate. With all the energy he was expending on nerves and pacing, he was going to need a hearty meal. As it was, he hadn’t fed on anyone since that devastating night with Snape, though Dumbledore had generously offered to make a donation.  
  
       “Here.” Clio looked around to make sure no one was coming then pressed a small vial into his palm. “I didn't know if I should give this to you or not. It's up to you whether you drink it.”  
  
       “I'm not hungry,” Harry said, believing it to be more of Snape's vomit-flavored appetite suppressant. He glanced down at the vial and realized the potion it contained was a deep shade of red. He frowned at Clio. “What is this?”  
  
       She looked straight into Harry's eyes. “Your last best hope for happiness.”  
  
       Harry's brows shot up in surprise. “Really?”  
  
       “I don't know,” Clio admitted with a shrug, a grin cracking the seriousness of her expression, “but it sounded good, right?”  
  
       Harry glared at her.  
  
       “I'm pretty sure it's just a calming draught of some kind,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Professor Snape told me to give it to you if you became unhinged.”  
  
       “I'm not unhinged,” Harry muttered with a petulant frown. He rolled the vial around in his palm. Should he drink it? What he really needed was a potion that would erase his memories of Snape's touch, of his taunting voice ...  
  
       _You'll never stop wanting this ... You'll never be satisfied with anyone else ..._  
  
       “Show me a little mercy, Snape,” he said under his breath. “Let me forget you.”  
  
       Harry uncorked the vial and drank its contents in one gulp. It tasted sweetly tart on his tongue, like strawberries fresh from the garden. He stared at the empty vial and waited for something to happen. His stomach gurgled then ... nothing. His memory remained painfully intact.  
  
       _He never was the merciful type,_ Harry thought with a wry grin. To Clio he said, “Yeah, just a calming draught.”  
  
       “Feel better?”  
  
       “Loads.”  
  
       The doors of the Great Hall swung open and Dumbledore poked his head out. “It is time, Harry.”  
  
       He jerked to his feet, feeling as far from 'calm' as one could be.  
  
       “Good luck,” Clio said, suddenly as nervous as Harry as she straightened the collar of his robe and brushed his hair out of his eyes. She acted more like a mother with her child than a Ministry official with her client. “Remember, don't rush yourself. This is the rest of your life we're talking about. You don't want to pick the very first wand you see. You've got a natural craving for magic and energy, so use that to your advantage. Close your eyes and feel out the room before you make any hasty decisions.”  
  
       “Right. Feel it out.” He took several deep breaths then walked stiffly into the Great Hall. Dumbledore did not follow; Harry would have to go through this ordeal alone.   
  
       The doors swung shut behind him with a loud bang, then silence. He walked further into the room, amazed at the sight of rows and rows of wands spread out in uniform lines over the four long tables. Each wand hummed with the magic of its owner. That magic tugged Harry this way and that way, like a thousand voices trying to get his attention all at once. He walked between the first two tables and realized that every wand was exactly the same color and size.   
  
       “Why are they all the same?” Harry rubbed his eyes vigorously but the sight of a thousand identical wands never changed. Had Dumbledore done this? Or was it part of the Ministry's 'fair and unbiased' way of finding Harry a bondmate? Either way, it effectively narrowed Harry's options down to choosing randomly or relying on his intuition.  
  
       “Intuition it is,” he said, closing his eyes. He tried to block out the annoying buzz of the weaker wands so he could concentrate on the deep, resonant purr of the strong ones.   
  
       _There_.   
  
       A steady pulse of magic and power called out to him from the far right side of the room. He held onto that feeling as he navigated the tables, a familiar hunger stirring inside of him the closer he got. His nerves were a thing of the past as he searched for the source of that seductive magic. There was no room for indecision or doubt. He knew this was the wand he was meant to have. He didn't stop to question _why_ he was so certain. He just ... was.   
  
       When he found the right section of table, he systematically rejected wand after wand as the one he was looking for, his hands shaking with the need to grasp onto the power that summoned him. It wasn't until he reached the very end of the table that he knew he'd found his prize.  
  
       He placed his hand on the wand and stated clearly, “I choose this one.”  
  
       Immediately, all the other wands disappeared and the doors of the Great Hall opened.   
  
       “That was rather quick,” Clio said anxiously as she and Dumbledore walked over to him.   
  
       Dumbledore picked up the wand that Harry had chosen and examined it. It seemed to Harry that he smiled fondly at the wand before placing it in a long, narrow box to be presented to its owner during the signing of the bonding contract.  
  
       “I'm sure Harry followed his first instinct, and that is usually the best course of action.”  
  
       Harry smiled weakly and hoped Dumbledore was right.  
  
  


* * * * * * * * *

  
  
  
       “The house-elves outdid themselves,” Dumbledore said as he looked around the suite of rooms that would be Harry's new living quarters at Hogwarts, taking special note of the mismatched socks hanging from the fireplace. He placed a small silver box on the mantle as he examined the colorful dangling footwear. His blue eyes twinkled as he glanced at Harry. “Is this Dobby's handiwork?”  
  
       “He called it a 'room-warming' gift. I thought about telling him that you only hang stockings over the fireplace at Christmas, but ... ” Harry shrugged and managed a lopsided grin. He'd spent his last few hours of freedom exploring every nook and cranny of his new rooms, or rather _their_ new rooms, since he would be sharing them with his bondmate. It had been one of the terms of his contract: they would both live at Hogwarts until the end of the school year. There were two bedrooms, each with their own private bath, and the common room was so wide and spacious that he and his bondmate could easily go an entire day without being within ten feet of each other.   
  
       Dumbledore pretended to look around some more before causally addressing a topic that was foremost in Harry's thoughts. “I have met the owner of the wand you chose. He is a fine man, a powerful wizard, but immensely stubborn. No doubt you'll get along splendidly.”  
  
       Harry sank into the plump, green armchair with relief. Dumbledore's approval was as good as it got. He gestured for Dumbledore to take the other armchair, asking with a hint of hope in his voice, “I don't suppose you're going to tell me his name?”   
  
       “That would be cheating, and I've already broken too many rules. You aren't supposed to see anyone before the bonding, remember? I had to bribe Ms. Blackburn with two Jelly Slugs and a Sugar Quill before she would consent to smuggle me into your new rooms. Surely you don't want me to compound my transgressions by divulging top secret information about your bondmate?”  
  
       Harry chuckled. He pictured Dumbledore and Clio haggling over sweets; it was surprisingly easy to imagine. “No, I definitely don't want to get you into trouble.”  
  
       “I am entirely in your debt for that, dear boy.” Dumbledore picked up the small silver box from where he'd placed it on the mantle and brought it over to where Harry was sitting. He sat in the chair across from Harry and handed him the box to open. “I thought you should have this.”  
  
       Harry opened the lid to reveal a Carysantha blossom in a bed of dark green moss. Its crimson and gold petals rose and fell in languid waves, beckoning to him as they had the first time he saw them. The scent that once intoxicated him had no power over him now, but the bewitching beauty of the flower remained undiminished. He couldn't help but admire it, even though he knew how dangerous it could be.   
  
       “I should hate this flower,” he said quietly, “so why am I happy that you returned it to me?”  
  
       “Sometimes, the things that give us the most pain are more precious to us than we realize. Love, for instance.”  
  
       Harry closed the box and set it aside. “Love is the last thing on my mind these days. I don't think I'm capable of feeling it anymore.”  
  
       “Are you so sure?” Dumbledore re-opened the box with a flick of his wand and gestured to the brilliant blossom inside. “This flower is a bit like love: it makes fools of some, lunatics of others, and some, the very lucky ones, are completely transformed by it.”  
  
       He patted Harry on the shoulder. “I'll show myself out.”  
  
       Harry nodded absently, still staring at the Carysantha flower. The gentle click of the door closing broke him from his reverie and he realized he was alone. He sighed and picked up the box.  
  
       “Completely transformed, eh?” He lightly brushed his fingertip over one of the Carysantha's long, curling petals and smiled as it wound itself around the tip of his finger. It squeezed his finger gently, as if sensing the kinship between them and wanting to comfort Harry. That affectionate gesture forced Harry to rethink everything he thought he knew about the Carysantha plant and, in turn, about his own identity as a _leanan sidhe_.  
  
       He chuckled softly. “Well, what do you know? I guess you've got a heart after all.”  
  
  


* * * * * * * * *

  
  
  
       “Whoever wrote this book definitely didn't have a _leanan sidhe_ of his own.”   
  
       Harry gave his eyes a rest from the uninspired black-and-white boredom of the only reading material he had with him: Snape's dusty tome on magical creatures. After exhausting all other methods of distracting himself, he'd turned to the chapters on his new race and decided to give them another try. He soon realized what he'd missed by skipping around and skimming through the pages: _nothing_.   
  
       Harry couldn't understand what was holding everything up. Dumbledore had been gone for over an hour. Had something happened while Harry was stuck in his rooms? Was there a problem with the contract? Was Lucius calling for a re-do since his wand didn’t get picked? Had Harry’s future bondmate been trampled by a herd of stampeding hippogriffs?   
  
       “I need to get out of this room.” He didn't care that he was supposed to 'stay put' until the bonding was over. He was getting out of there. Harry ditched the book and headed for the door. He considered taking a little walk towards the dungeons ...   
  
       The door flew open before he could even get his hand on the knob.  
  
       “Going somewhere, Potter?”  
  
       _Wow, did I do some weird conjuring spell without realizing it?_ Harry wondered as he saw Severus Snape standing in his doorway.  
  
       “Yes, I’d love to come in,” Snape said impatiently when Harry just stood there speechless. He walked right into the room and immediately began rearranging the furniture with his wand.  
  
       “What are you doing here?” Harry asked when he finally got his voice back.  
  
       “Isn’t it obvious?” Snape scooped up the abandoned book on magical creatures and placed it on the empty bookcase. “Only one book in the entire place? I suppose you’re going for the new ‘illiterate’ look, hmm?”  
  
       Harry refused to be sidetracked. “You aren’t supposed to be here. No one is supposed to be here except for – ”  
  
       His eyes widened in realization.  
  
       “I do so enjoy the way you can jump from clueless to clued-in so quickly, Potter. Now, which is my room?”   
  
       “Your room?”  
  
       “Four walls, a bed, a closet ... sound familiar?” Snape froze mid-step towards the first bedroom and slowly turned around. “Or did you want to seal this bond right away?”  
  
       “Bond?” Harry’s voice cracked. He started to take small backward steps towards the second bedroom, nearly tripping over an ottoman as he kept his eyes solely on Snape.  
  
       “You must be starving,” Snape drawled, taking step after step in unhurried pursuit of his soon-to-be bondmate, “because you’re talking like an idiot.”  
  
       “You always think I talk like an idiot,” Harry accused with a return of his usual fire as he continued to retreat towards his bedroom.   
  
       “Aren't you wondering how you happened to choose _my_ wand out of all the others?”  
  
       “Dumb luck?” Harry banged his heel on the door-frame and swore violently.   
  
       Snape chuckled. “Language, Potter.”  
  
       “I can say whatever I want. This isn't your classroom.”  
  
       The amusement in Snape's eyes darkened to a predatory gleam. “No, and it isn't my office or a dark corner of the dungeons, either, but I'm sure you can adjust to the change of setting.”  
  
       Harry scowled and carefully backed his way into the bedroom, keeping Snape at arm's length. “We were talking about the Choosing, remember?”  
  
       “Ahh, yes. Well, with the Headmaster preventing the usual tricks and manipulations from wizards like Lucius, I had to find a different way to point you towards my wand.”  
  
       An incredulous laugh bubbled out of Harry before he could stop it. “You rigged the Choosing?”  
  
       “I rigged _you_ , not the Choosing.”  
  
       “Me? How?”  
  
       “I gambled on my certainty that you would drink any potion as long as you knew it came from me.”  
  
       Harry felt slightly insulted. “So your entire plan rested on the fact that I'm a gullible twit?”  
  
       “Basically.”  
  
       “Just wanted to be clear.”  
  
       Snape shrugged out of his robes and tugged his shirt free of his trousers. “The potion sensitized you to my magical signature, amplifying your reaction to it. I might as well have drawn you a map with a big X where my wand was. I didn't want to leave anything up to chance.”  
  
       “That's ... that's really ...”  
  
       “Clever? Cunning? A work of genius?”   
  
       Harry swallowed his original words of praise and made a face. “Creepy.”  
  
       Snape scoffed at that and continued to maneuver Harry closer to the bed.  
  
       Harry held him off with yet another question. “Wait, Clio said you told her to give me the potion if I was 'unhinged,' right? How did you know I'd start cracking under the pressure? I could've been fine for all you knew.”  
  
       Snape raised a single black brow.  
  
       “It's possible,” Harry muttered.   
  
       “I took the risk.”   
  
       “What made you come up with such a ‘genius’ plan in the first place?”  
  
       “I wasn't going to let anyone else have you.”  
  
       “Why? Why do you even care?”  
  
       “Because I want you,” Snape said, tilting Harry's chin upward so their eyes could meet.   
  
       “Nothing in my life is ever that simple.” Harry kept waiting for the truth to come out, for Snape to admit his hidden agenda. “Maybe you just want the advantage of having your own personal muse.”  
  
       “Don't confuse me with Lucius,” Snape sneered, his fingers tightening on Harry's chin. “I don't need your help to be brilliant, Potter. I do just fine on my own.”  
  
       “Then I don't understand. If you don't want me because I'm a _leanan sidhe_ then why - ”  
  
       “I hope it's the hunger making you this thick-headed.” Snape brought an abrupt end to the conversation as he placed a gloved hand on Harry's chest and pushed him down onto the bed.  
  
       “So we’re really going to do this?” Harry tried to sit up but Snape just pushed him back down again.  
  
       “I did some poor bastard a favor, saving him from this inane babble you keep spouting,” Snape complained, though the way he slid his hand up Harry’s thigh indicated he didn’t feel put-out in the least. “Hold out your hands so I can take the charm off those gloves. I don’t want any other spells interfering with the bonding spell when I perform it.”  
  
       After he broke the spell, Snape painstakingly peeled the glove off of Harry’s right hand, massaging the too-pale skin and bringing life and color and sensation back into it. He did the same with Harry’s other hand, removing the confining leather with deliberate slowness then bringing back the sensitivity to Harry’s fingers by kneading and caressing them.  
  
       Harry, though still fully clothed, felt absolutely naked without his gloves. For days he’d dreamed of being free of them. Why, now, did he feel so vulnerable without them?   
  
       Snape kissed Harry’s palm, chuckling when Harry’s fingers flexed and a soft moan drifted up from below. He moved on to stripping Harry’s shirt and trousers from his body, taking his sweet time when it came to tugging the boxers down Harry’s legs. He slid one hand between Harry's thighs and rubbed at the ring of muscle he would soon be penetrating, a dark smile curving his lips at the way Harry squirmed and moaned. He pulled away only to remove one of his gloves, then set about ensuring that his bondmate wouldn't be damaged during the ritual, whispering a lubrication spell before working the first of three fingers into Harry's virgin hole.   
  
       Harry yelped as a jolt of energy shot through him, spearing into his body from just that single finger. Being _leanan sidhe_ meant feeling everything twice - the actual physical sensation was always coupled with a second caress of heat, energy and magic. As Snape added another finger, then another, the intensity of that energy escalated until Harry's body was humming with it.   
  
       When Snape felt Harry was ready, he slid his hand back into the glove, ever aware of Harry's hungry stare as he slipped his pale fingers back into the dark leather. Smirking, he unfastened his own trousers, freed his cock and positioned himself between Harry’s legs.  
  
       “Hey! I know this is more ritual than romance, but aren’t you at least going to take your clothes off?” Harry asked in an offended tone.   
  
       Snape smirked. “You wouldn’t last two seconds with full-body contact, Potter. In fact, I’m not sure _I_ could last that long if I had you feeding off every part of me all at once.”  
  
       “Oh.” Harry hadn’t thought of it like that. He lost himself in the prospect of feeding with his entire body, every inch of his skin drinking in the liquid heat of Snape's energy, savoring the rich flavor of his magic as it coated him from head to toe ...   
  
       He swallowed hard. “But we could ... _try_ it sometime, right?”  
  
       Those obsidian eyes devoured Harry whole. “I’d be more than happy to make the attempt. Now be quiet so I can concentrate, an already near-impossible task with that fleshy flag of yours waving in my face.”  
  
       He began to chant softly, his hard cock pressed against Harry’s puckered hole. Whatever anxities Harry might have had about his first time were lulled into silence by the soothing baritone of Snape’s voice. It was a little surreal for Harry as he felt the spell dance over his skin like a flurry of snowflakes, bitter cold at first then melting into a pleasing warmth. He drifted into a semi-conscious state, sedated by the measured chanting and the magic spreading over his body. He hoped that he didn't fall asleep. Snape would never forgive him.  
  
       As the last words of the spell fell from his lips, Snape slowly pressed his way into Harry's body, eventually burying himself to the hilt. Harry arched off the bed with a cry of pleasure; the spell blocked most of the discomfort he would have felt at being penetrated for the first time, so all he could feel was the sweet sensation of being filled by Snape’s hot flesh and pulsing energy. There was no denying he was awake now, his hands fisting the bedsheets as Snape slowly began to thrust in and out at a languid pace that grew in intensity with every gasp of pleasure wrung from Harry’s lips.  
  
       They rocked together in a rhythm that felt guided by a greater force, unified by whatever ancient magic Snape had stirred into wakefulness with his quiet chant. Harry came first, his hands reaching for Snape and pulling him close as tremors of pleasure wracked his body. He could feel the sizzle of Snape’s energy through the thin material of his shirt, and the way Snape's muscles shifted and tightened beneath his hands as Snape found his own release, filling Harry with warm seed and sealing the bond between them.  
  
       Snape pulled out with a guttural groan, his shirt and trousers splattered with Harry’s come. Harry felt the loss immediately, his energy levels crashing, making it hard for him to keep his eyes open. They both lay there in a post-bonding stupor, connected ... yet with an inevitable distance still existing between them, one that only time would erase.   
  
       Snape was the first to recover.  
  
       “I really don’t know how that could have gone better,” he said with unbearable smugness.  
  
       “How ‘bout a little foreplay next time?” Harry asked in a sleepy mumble.  
  
       “Don’t get greedy, Potter.”  
  
       The bed dipped beside him and he felt soft leather against his cheek.  
  
       “Get some rest,” Snape murmured, and then he was kissing Harry, a brief caress of his lips that was gone before Harry could fully comprehend its significance. He held his breath until he heard the bedroom door close. When he opened his eyes and brought his fingers up to his mouth, his lips were still warm and tingling with energy from Snape's kiss.  
  
       For the first time, Harry let himself believe this new life of his could work.  
  
  
  
END (for now ^_^) 


End file.
